


your name is a wave

by liquidsky



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-23
Updated: 2016-03-23
Packaged: 2018-05-28 13:04:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6330331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liquidsky/pseuds/liquidsky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Wow. I appreciate you, Stromer. Do you recall when you promised you’d be a good friend and never again mention the Unmentionable,” you can hear the capitalization in her voice.</p><p>“Why, yes, I do. But you gotta admit that you having the hots for Eichel is too good to just ignore,” Dylan explains, and Connie mutters a "Fuck off".</p><p>“I was looking for some sympathy, shitjizzer,”</p><p>(in which Connor has a thing for Jack)</p>
            </blockquote>





	your name is a wave

**Author's Note:**

> if you got here by googling yourself or someone you know, now is the time to close this tab and run for the hills. please, please do. title is a line from pull me down by mikky ekko.

“This rivalry thing is fucking bullshit,” Connie states, and her voice sounds muffled through the line because she’s trown herself face down on the bed, her face shoved against the ugly orange pillows that were already there when she moved in, “No, I swear, ok, like, why the fuck do they gotta keep asking him about me? And asking me about him? Do we fucking look like each other’s keepers or something?”

 

Dylan snorts. She doesn’t really stop for a breath, “Not to mention, it's fucking uncomfortable as hell, _‘describe your relationship with Jack Eichel, or lack thereof?_ ’, what is this. Literally, what is this, what on earth do they want me to say? Oh yeah I plan on shoving my stats up his asshole and watching as he coughs them out through his mouth”

 

“That sounds aggressive, Davo”

 

“And I don’t, by the way. I _like_ Jack, he’s nice—”

 

"—Nice—”

 

“—Fine, not _nice_ nice, but he’s okay. And he’s doing great for himself, so why the fuck—”

 

Dylan stops her, mostly because she’s starting to sound like she might choke on her on breath within the next four seconds, “Did _you_ have a nice day, Davo?”. He laughs when she groans. She tries kicking her pants off from where they’re sticking to her calves and sighs. 

 

“I know it’s just media and they have a story to sell and whatnot, but,  _ dude—” _

 

“ _ How _ is Jack gonna  _ like you- _ like you when people keep reminding him he should want to see you trip and fall out of a window?”

 

“Dyls—” 

 

“I _know_ , those evil journalists getting in the way of true love”, he mocks, and maybe it means she doesn’t love herself as much as she hoped she would that all that achieves is making her miss him. She shoves her pants out of the bed and tries going for her bra next, leaving the phone on speaker by her side.

 

“Wow. I appreciate you, Stromer. Do you recall when you promised you’d be a good friend and never again mention the Unmentionable,” you can hear the capitalization in her voice, and her bra is refusing to come off, and oh my god, she’s an NHL-playing-adult, it’s not possible that she is incapable of taking off her bra without getting her dress shirt off first. 

 

“Why, _yes_ , I do. But you gotta admit that you having the hots for Eichel is too good to just ignore,” Dylan explains, and Connie mutters a _fuck off_ , followed closely by an _aha_  when she manages to get the damn bra off her body. Good one.

 

“I was looking for some sympathy, shitjizzer,”

 

“Ok, first: why do you sound like you’re getting naked? And second: have you seen his hair? Or his lightwash jeans? Also, Davo, are you seriously getting naked right now?”, she finishes getting her left arm out of the scratchy sleeves of her shirt and sighs. 

 

“Like I said, _sympathy_ ,” she repeats, “And we have _showered_ together before. What is your deal?”

 

“Just asking, Jesus,” and snorts, because somehow everything that is holy has turned into a unfortunate joke that has every single person Connor’s ever shared more than a few words with being dickwads about calling her It, “And no sympathy for those jeans, sucker”

 

“Fuck off, Strome”, is what she says before ending the call. 

  
He floods her text box with eggplant emojis.

 

* * *

 

It’s not that she likes him, exactly. And more that she’d been standing in front of the vending machine trying to wriggle out some past-midnight kitkats and hoping no one would see her and he showed up wearing soft BU sweatpants and a faded blue t-shirt that made his arms look like they were about to rip the thing to shreads. She’d honestly lost a little perspective there.

 

Horny teenage girl, is more of the thing. And Jack is. _Well_. He’s hot. He's slightly taller than she is, and his eyes are that color that used to annoy the shit outta her because you can’t really tell whether they’re green or blue and he has _really_ nice teeth, which is. A thing for her, apparently. Her brain has even translated his weird hair into _looks fucking hot wearing snapbacks._ That, ladies and whoever else, is how deep her thirst runs. It’s truly incredible. She might understand why Dylan thinks that’s so funny, but still _—_ rude as fuck.

 

That should be it, really, because she’s been around cute, will-probably-turn-into-ripped-dudes all her life, and she’s generally pretty imune to Eks’ particular brand of  _ holy smokes _ , so it kind of makes no sense whatsoever that she’s as dumbly into Jack as she is. _Except._

 

He talks to kids like he belongs there, is kind and loud and brash and funny, and she likes the way it makes her feel almost unbalanced, like he’s expansive in nice opposition to her quiet and the way she lives too much in her head because people might take things that are not theirs to take otherwise. Not to mention: his hands _—_

 

* * *

 

 

She stares at him. Her face-off percentage isn’t the best yet, but this _is_ —She scores: 22 seconds in. The game winner, then, when the whole 60 minutes are up and they enter the overtime. Maybe it should’ve been Jack to score, and it almost was, but.

 

 

* * *

 

_ — _ his hands are in her hair, and he’s shoving her against the wall, the soft fabric of her t-shirt bunching up under his fingers as he tries to pull her closer to him. Connie pushes her ass against his cock almost out of reflex when he sucks at the skin on her neck, scraping his teeth and laying down a path of wet kisses all the way down to her shoulders. With the hand that’s not fisted in her hair, forcing her to bare her neck, he starts pushing up the hem of her shirt and she complies, moving closer to the wall and creating space between them so she can take it off. Jack drags her back to him as soon as her shirt falls to the floor, both his hands finding each other on her chest. 

 

“Is this okay,” he asks, his breath tickling her jaw. He’s pressed so, so close and she wants—she wants a lot, and he seems to, too, his cock fitted nice and hard against the curve of her ass. Jack rolls her nipples between his fingers and she gasps, 

 

“Yeah,” she tells him, and lets her forehead drop against the wall, this is. Not what she’s used to, and his hands leave her breasts to explore downwards, playing with the hem of her sweats. She shivers, “More than,” she adds, if only because speaking makes her head feel less clouded. 

 

“And this?” his hands snaking inside her pants, blazing hot, and her breath is getting louder and louder, her entire body melting into his when the tips of his index and middle fingers  press against her clit through her panties. He keeps moving them in small circles, slow and teasing, his teeth sinking into the skin of her shoulders before he pushes his fingers harder against her, “ _McDavid_ , and this?”, he repeats himself, nudging her jaw with his nose, very softly, a startling contrast to how firmly he’s rubbing her off now.

 

Connie's hands, braced on the wall next to her forehead, go down to circle each of his wrists and she can’t—Jesus. “Don’t stop, just—”

 

“Wasn’t planning on it”, he tells her, letting his fingers catch on the wetness soaking through the fabric, and dragging a little, making a mess, “Think you’ll still be standing if I make you come right here?” Jack asks, and he’s pushing her panties to the side, “huh? Want me to fuck you with my fingers ‘til your come all over me? Get you nice and wet so I can fuck you with my cock after?” 

 

He can see the way she’s flushing all the way to her chest, and pulls on her hair with the hand that’s not rubbing through her folds, getting her to turn a little so he can reach her mouth, biting on her bottom lip before kissing her deeply, until it becomes less of a kiss and more the two of them sharing air between them once he pushes one of his fingers inside her. She’s so wet already, warm and tight and—her breath keeps hitching, and it looks _so good_ , her mouth open and her pupils blown so much that there’s almost no irises left to be seen. Her eyes are so wide looking at his face. She looks overwhelmed, and he gives her another finger, keeping it shallow and crooking them, dragging them nicely against her walls. 

 

“Oh _my god_ ,” she says, and the hand tangled in her hair travels down to circle her clit as he pushes a third finger inside. It’s a lot—it feels almost as if she can’t keep quiet, the sounds leaving her mouth without even processing and she feels her entire body tense, her toes curling against the carpet as she comes, mouth stretched around a loud gasp. He kisses her through it: the back of her neck, her shoulders, her jaw. Keeps his fingers moving inside her, deep in wetness, until she squeezes his wrists. 

 

The small, peppering kisses he presses to her shoulders feel weirdly out of character in this scenario, but she’s leaning heavily against him anyway, can’t help the tired grin taking over her face as he says, “Bed?”, and puts his arms around her waist so she can continue to lean on him before they sprawl, both of them, face down on the bed. She laughs, small and quiet, and he snorts, too, shifts so they crawl up towards the headboard and he lays on top of her, his cock rutting softly against her strong thighs. 

 

He kisses her, again, exploratory, this time, and her hands grip his shoulders, pulling him closer and closer to her—his defined chest against her breasts. He pulls away from her to take off his shirt and it’s almost comical that he’d been wearing it all through what they’ve just done. She snorts, can’t help it, and he rolls her eyes. She laughs softly while taking of her pants and underwear, and he stares at her pink, slick flesh until she clears her throat and he remembers he was supposed to be taking his own clothes off, too. 

 

“Jack,” she says, because he’s been hunched over his bag for about thirty years now, and though the view of his broad shoulders and pale ass are appealing, she’d kind of like this to happen within this century still, “Hurry up”

 

He turns around, condom is hand, and quirks his eyebrows, “Wouldn’t want to leave our Savior waiting,” and she tenses, shoulders stiff, before Jack falls back into bed and slaps her leg lightly, squinting like he’s daring her to say something about her McJesus rep. She relaxes, shrugging before pulling him over her and dragging her curious hands down the small of his back, the back of his thighs. His cock catches on the jut of her hips, and he’s wet, too, precome leaking at the tip and she can’t help wrapping her hand around him, pushing her finger against the slit to spread the wetness around. Feels good, his skin soft and warm under her hands, and he hisses, sucking air harshly through his nose and shoving his face against the crook of her neck.

 

“Mc–”, he starts, and she stops him, letting her short fingernails sink into the pale skin of his back.

 

“Connie,” she says, and he looks at her, his eyes searching, before nodding, a private smile on his face.

 

“Connie,” he repeats, and he’s pulling away from her and reaching for the condom. She’s not—she’s not shaking, exactly, but her entire body feels sensitive, shivery and expectant, and has to fight the urge to stare at the ceiling and take a few deep breaths. Connie looks at Jack, instead, watches his deft fingers roll the condom on his cock, can’t help but press her legs together at the sight of it, flushed red, a lot thicker than it is longer, and her heart is gonna do a somersault out of her chest at any point now, she thinks, and it beats even faster when he smiles, kneeling in front of her and circling his fingers around her ankle.

 

“Like this is okay, right?” and he’s moving forward, so she tries to wrap both of her legs around his narrow hips, and he leans in to kiss her before holding his cock on one of his hands and dragging the head over her clit and the wetness on her entrance. She moans, her head falling back to rest on the pillows and he sucks on her exposed neck, nibbling at the skin. Her fingers dig into the muscle of his arms as he pushes in—

 

“Fuck—”, Connie moans, and chokes on a gasp as he keeps going until he’s bottomed out. She arches when he reaches down to rub on her clit and she pulls him to her, dragging his face down to kiss him, sucking on his tongue as he starts moving, all the way out, then in, and as she dips his head to suck a bruise on his shoulders he moans, too, surprisingly loud, the noise blending with her heavy breathing and the little gasps she keeps letting out without meaning to. 

 

The silence is broken for good, because Jack can’t seem to stop making noise, saying her name over and over again, taking turns between licking at any skin he can reach and moaning, hoarse and low on his throat. He contorts enough to suck one of her nipples into his mouth, hard almost to the point of pain, and she keeps talking, too: his name, a litany of:

 

“Jack, _Jack_ , Jack,” that makes him dig his nails into the meat of her ass, dragging her closer and closer to him, creating space for himself inside her, deeper and deeper, “Holy  _ fuck, _ ” she tugs on his hair, firmly enough to hurt and licks his lips, puffing hot air against his mouth, eyes closed. 

 

“Connie,” he says, and she opens her eyes to look at him, at the way sweat is pooling on his collarbones and his hairline, the way his strong arms are now braced on either side on her head, boxing her in, and she’s balanced only by the strenght of his thighs against the back of hers, “you close, babe?” she forces her eyes closed at the endearment, they--they aren’t and _she isn’t_ and this is–

 

“ _Connie,_ fuck,” he calls her again, and she looks at him, teeth digging into her lower lip, “Come on, wanna feel- _ -jesus. _ Want you to come on my cock before I do, jesus, c’mon,” and she nods at him, 

 

“Can you,” she starts, and he drops to lean on his elbows, his lips so close to hers that they almost catch when she says, “Faster, ple _ as _ e, just, just a little,” and moans when he complies, switching to a faster pace, with shallow thrusts and, “That’s it, fuck,  _ Jack _ ,”

 

“Will you touch yourself for me, Connie? Play with your clit while I fuck you just like this?” he says, and his lips drag against hers when he adds, “Please,” in a low voice. 

 

And she does, her fingers wandering down her body to catch on her clit, rubbing fast and hard. She bites down on Jack’s arm when she comes, her entire body tightening deliciously around his, her legs tensing where they’re framing his hips, and it doesn’t take much until he does, too, gasping wetly against her cheek. He leans away from her after a while, and he’s looking at her—

 

* * *

 

 

_He was looking at her_ , she thinks, as she flops down on her bed, still wearing her game-day suit, the bone-deep exhaustion of a game well played settling into her body. She wonders what they’ll ask him, then, and dreads it already, dreads what they might write about the game, too, about the things Jack is and isn’t and what she is in comparison and the truth is—

She responds to Dylan’s texts of “!!!!” with a bunch of skull emojis. And, well, she thinks it must be complicated to really want someone you might grow to resent and she just wishes—

 

* * *

 

Jack texts her the following morning, a link to a gif of hers when they asked her about her relationship with him. _Or lack thereof._ She bookmarks it. 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> this is unbeta'd, which means that any and all mistakes are my own. also, english is not my first language, so if there's anything reaching Crazy levels of "holy shit this is NOT how you write this word" please let me know in the comments. as always, i have read through this like four times and hopefully there won't be too many mistakes, but i apologize if there are. here's to hoping most of the sentences sound nice and cohesive. thank you for reading, i hope you have a nice day!


End file.
